by Mary Monroe
“Uh, I’m Lola.” I was glad I had paid a visit to the beauty shop a few hours earlier. My hair was looking its best—a French twist with bangs. There was no telling what it would look like after my romp with the big strapping man in front of me, looking at me like I was something good to eat. The thought almost made me giggle. “I’ve never done this before.” I plopped down so hard into the chair, my tailbone ached and my knee bumped his real hard. I couldn’t decide which one of us shuddered the hardest, and for different reasons, of course. He was probably excited; I was nervous.
He nodded. “You told me that in your first e-mail,” he reminded. “But don’t worry, after you’ve cut your teeth, you’ll get used to it.”
“Uh . . . huh,” I muttered. I wished that I had arrived first so I could have already had a drink or two to calm my nerves. “What do you want to do? I mean . . . you know.”
“I thought we’d have a couple of drinks and then a nice dinner. Do you have a favorite restaurant in the area, or would you like to eat here?” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand.
“I don’t know about the restaurants in this immediate area, but if you like sushi and tempura, there’s a fantastic Japanese place not too far from here.” I glanced at my watch.
“Lola, are you nervous, my dear?”
“Who me? Uh, not really,” I replied as I nervously tapped my fingers on the table. Before I could stop myself, Les gently took my hand in his and kissed it.
“We could save time by leaving now and ordering room service,” he told me, winking.
“Okay. Let’s do that.” I didn’t wait for him to rise and pull out my chair. I wobbled up and quickly scanned the room. There were only a few other patrons and I was glad none of them were paying any attention to us. But I didn’t like the way the bartender kept glancing in our direction. He had been eyeballing me since I walked in the door. He winked at me and nodded at Les when we passed by the bar. My first thought was that he assumed I was a hooker!
“I’m more nervous than I thought,” I told Les when we entered the elevator.
“You don’t have to be nervous at all. We are two consenting adults who want to enjoy the pleasure of each other’s company and, uh, each other’s body. But if you don’t want to go through with this, I’ll understand.”
I looked at this gorgeous man standing next to me and blinked. It had been way too long since I’d been in a man’s arms, especially one this handsome and sophisticated. Les was certainly a huge step up from the rusty, dusty, musty men I’d been with on “regular” dates. Suddenly I was no longer nervous. As a matter of fact, I kicked off my shoes as soon as we entered his suite. Within minutes after several passionate kisses, we removed our clothes and were wallowing all over that king-size bed in the middle of the room.
Les suddenly sat up and looked at his watch. “I, um, have some notes I have to revise later tonight for my presentation tomorrow,” he began, running his finger along the side of my face. “We’d better order room service. The steaks here are incredible.”
My whole body stiffened as I lay on my back looking up at him. I knew there had to be a downside! This man wanted to hit and run, as if he had hired an escort to come service him. The only difference was, escorts got paid for their services. And that was prostitution! A split second later, I scolded myself for even allowing that thought to enter my mind again. I had known the score from the get-go. I was giving up my body for free because this was not about getting paid; it was about getting laid.
I took a deep breath and sat up. “I had a huge lunch, so I’m not really that hungry,” I lied. I had been so nervous about this date that I had not eaten anything since breakfast. Now I was so hungry . . . I could eat a horse. But since it was obvious, or it seemed that way to me, that Les was anxious to fuck me and get it over with, I decided to go along with that plan. While he was still looking at me, I glanced at my watch again. “I didn’t realize it was so late,” I said. “I have some work I have to finish when I get home tonight too, so I don’t mind if we skip the room service.”
I was pleased to see a slightly disappointed look on his face. And I couldn’t understand why. He had given me the impression that a “rush job” was what he wanted, and I wanted to accommodate him.
“I see,” he muttered. Without another word, he lunged at me. As soon as he got me into the position he wanted, he pried my legs apart with his knee and piled on top of me, slapping his dick on my thigh before he rammed it into me. Once he was completely inside, he began to buck like a wild horse, and so did I.
It was one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life. Les was the kind of lover every woman dreamed about. He was not that well-endowed, but he knew how to work with what he had. Not only was he a fantastic lover, but he was also a “devoted” husband.
Immediately after we had both climaxed at the same time, he rolled over, snatched the phone off the stand, and frantically dialed a number. He breathed through his mouth until the person on the other end answered. “It’s me, dear. Uh-huh, I miss you too. Baby, I can’t wait to get back home. Kiss the kids for me.” There was a lengthy pause and then he said, “This trip is just as boring as the last one.”
That was not what I expected to hear from a man who was still huffing and puffing from his tryst with me less than a minute ago. I tried to imagine his wife on the other end of the line, what she looked like, and if she was naïve enough to believe she had a faithful husband. After he’d spoken a couple more sentences, reminding his wife to water his orchids and inquiring about his dog, he told her how much he loved her. Then he abruptly hung up.
The way he was ignoring me now, you would have thought I’d already left the room. He bolted out of bed and sprinted to the bathroom without saying another word to me. His peculiar behavior brought me back down to earth. I could not understand why I suddenly felt like a piece of meat. That thought didn’t stay with me long, though. I was a piece of meat, and so was Les, for that matter. All we’d wanted was to have a good time. Since we’d accomplished that, I saw no reason for me to hang around. As soon as I heard the water running in the shower, I got dressed and left.
Les Gould’s behavior after our encounter had bothered me for a few minutes, but I wasn’t going to waste my time thinking about it. What was done, was done—and I didn’t regret it. I had had sex with more men than I cared to count, and none of them had satisfied me the way Les had.
Chapter 45
Lola
FIVE MINUTES AFTER I GOT HOME FROM MY DATE WITH LES, I TOOK a shower and got into my pajamas. Then I made myself comfortable in my bed, grabbed my cell phone, and dialed Joan’s number. Words poured out of my mouth when she answered. “Is Reed around? I really need to talk.”
“His grandmother is visiting from Baltimore. He’s spending the night at his parents’ house.” There was a short pause and then she asked in one breath, “Did you go on your date?”
“Yeah, I went. Les Gould was a nice, gorgeous man. And, boy, does he know how to work a woman’s body.”
Joan snickered. “Seeeeee. I told you, you’d enjoy it.”
“He didn’t talk much and he gave me the impression that he didn’t want me to stick around after . . . after we finished. I took off while he was in the shower. Should I have hung around?”
“Not unless you and he had discussed a second round. The best way to keep this light and simple is to do what you’re there to do, wipe your coochie, get back into your clothes, and then haul ass. There is no need to hang around and cuddle, unless that’s something you both want to do. I’ve been with a couple of guys who wasted no time sending me on my way after they’d gotten what they wanted. Which was always fine with me. I’m not interested in lying around with a man I’ll probably never see again, discussing a bunch of mundane bullshit! Some of them have big egos and love to talk about themselves.”
“I know exactly what you mean. But I have to admit, I really enjoyed myself with Les. I could get used to this until I meet Mr. Right.”
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“Ha! I wouldn’t count on that anytime soon. And even if you do meet Mr. Right, he might turn into Mr. Wrong sooner or later. Look what happened to me with that pig in a poke I married!” Joan snarled. “And to think, for Reed, I gave up my dream to be a journalist. I was going to travel all over the world.”
“You can still be a journalist and travel all over the world, Joan.”
“Not with that insecure fool breathing down my neck! Do you think he’d even let me set foot out of this state without a fuss?”
“Only if he goes with you and puts you on a very short leash.”
“Have you checked your e-mail today?” Joan asked. I was glad she changed the subject.
“Yeah, I checked just before I went to meet Les. Two new club members sent messages, a surgeon and a salesman. The salesman says he wants to e-mail chat with me a few times before he commits to a date. The surgeon is going to be in town next month to be a guest on a local TV medical program. He offered to have a limo pick me up and bring me to his hotel.”
“A limo and another surgeon already? I am scared of you! Aren’t you glad you posted such a sexy picture of yourself? It’s going to be hard for you to pick and choose when more members find out about you. They are going to bombard you with requests for dates. Unless you want to do this full-time, you’re going to have to turn down some real cuties. I know I have.”
“Joan, what if I were to browse around the site and see a man I’d really like to be with? Do I ask him for a date, or do I sit back and hope that he will eventually see my profile and contact me?”
“Didn’t I already tell you that female club members can request dates? And, like I also told you, the person requesting the date has to set it up, maybe even travel to the other’s person’s city and pay the hotel expenses. If the dude is a penny-pincher, the woman will be responsible for every other expense associated with the encounter.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. You already told me. Well, hopefully, I’ll be too busy with other dates, so it won’t ever come to that.”
“You will be too busy, honey. I can’t keep up with all the requests I get. There’s this auto executive in Billings, Montana, who’s coming to California to visit his brother next month. He’s sent me a dozen e-mails in less than two weeks requesting a date and I keep turning him down. A man that anxious to get into my pants scares me. With all the women available on the site, why would a dude pester the same woman over and over again?”
“Your profile and picture must have really impressed him.”
“I guess so, but that’s no reason for him to be so anxious to be with me. If all he wants is a good fuck, he can get that from any one of the other club members, or one closer to his hometown. That is, if they like his looks well enough. One rule I have is that I don’t want to be with a man who is too aggressive before we even meet.”
“So now you’re telling me you’re worried about getting into something you’ll regret? Like a Fatal Attraction stalking situation?”
“No, nothing like that. I just don’t want another clinging-vine man in my life, even if it’s only for one date. Another thing I’m concerned about is me getting too attached to one of my hookups. Having a serious relationship with another man is out of the question as long as I’m stuck with Reed. But you can.”
“I can what?”
“If you meet a hot dude and you two really hit it off, there’s no telling what it could lead to.”
“Remember the man in San Jose I told you about?”
“No, I don’t.”
“He was one of the first ones to respond when I posted my profile.”
“Oh, you mean that truck driver using the RamRod screen name?”
“Uh-huh. I keep thinking about him. He’s so handsome, and the first war hero who’s ever approached me. Even if I never meet him, I’m glad he made it back safe and sound from Afghanistan. I’ll bet he’s got some interesting war stories to share.”
“Don’t let your patriotic panties get wet too soon!” Joan laughed. “I’ll bet he’s got a lot more than that to share.”
“I’m sure he has.”
“Well, are you interested in finding out?”
“I am. But like I told you, I don’t want to rush into anything with him. I’d rather spend time with a few other men first. After I’ve had enough fun, I might want to meet Calvin, and not just for a ‘hit it and run’ date. From what I know about him so far, I’m really impressed.”
“You can’t be that impressed if you can put off meeting him.”
“Give me a break. I’m not as . . . you know.”
“I know what?”
“You know I’m not as loosey-goosey as you are. Ever since you got into online dating, you’ve been running amok. It takes me a little longer to get into the swing of things. I still can’t believe you went on a date while your husband was still recovering from his suicide attempt.”
“If you had to deal with a sad sack like Reed, you’d get ‘into the swing of things’ a lot faster than you do now. One of the reasons I went on a date while he was still recovering was so I could recover from it myself. I’m not ashamed to admit that I love to fuck. I wasn’t getting what I needed at home, so I had to do what I did, when I did it.” Joan paused to catch her breath. “And another thing, when you get your mojo going up to full speed, you’ll feel the same way. There’s just one thing.”
“What now?”
“I still think that this truck driver lives too close for comfort. If, and I say if, he gets too serious after you hook up with him, and you don’t feel the same, you might have a problem with him.”
“I think we’re getting way ahead of ourselves. He’s not being pushy or anything like that, so he’s okay with me taking my time. I haven’t heard from him in a while, and as far as I know, he could have forgotten all about me and moved on to another woman, anyway.”
“If you do decide to e-mail him again, or if he contacts you and you decide to go meet him, just be careful. Don’t give out too much personal information about yourself.”
“I won’t,” I said.
The day after my conversation with Joan, a man, who sounded even more interesting than Les Gould, left a message in my club in-box and sent a message to my regular e-mail address. Before I responded, I checked out his profile and his picture. Enrique Cortez looked like one of my favorite movie stars, Antonio Banderas. He was a forty-year-old hotel manager from Madrid, Spain. His screen name was “SpanishFly” and he was going to be in L.A. on business in a few days. He eagerly offered to cover my travel expenses if I’d meet him in his hotel room at the Beverly Hilton. If that didn’t work for me, he’d fly up to the Bay Area.
I turned off my computer and went downstairs to see what Bertha was cooking for our dinner. She was in the kitchen, humped over the stove, humming her favorite hymn, “I Been in the Storm Too Long,” and stirring something in a tall pot. I didn’t even have to ask what it was. The smell was all too familiar.
“We’re having chitlins again?” I asked dryly as I poured myself a glass of water.
Bertha whirled around with an amused look on her face. “Girl, you know you won’t waste any time gobbling up a few bowls of these chitlins as soon as they get done.” Bertha shook her head and chuckled.
As far as I knew, I was very healthy. But I didn’t know how long that would last with all the things I ate. It was hard to believe that I usually ate lobster, caviar, and filet mignon, when I had dinner at Joan’s house.
“I’m never going to lose weight if you keep cooking up things like chitlins,” I complained.
Bertha laughed again and waved her hand in the air. “Girl, you know black men love women with meat on their bones,” she said, slapping her hefty thigh. “You need to stop trying to be skinny, because you’re too thin already. Only white men like skinny females.” With a thoughtful look, she added, “Maybe that’s why you can’t find a husband. . . .”
Chapter 46
Lola
AFTER ALL THE
YEARS THAT BERTHA HAD SABOTAGED MY RELA tionships with men, my love life was one subject I avoided discussing with her as much as I could. About six months ago, I’d started doing a little sporadic socializing with a couple of my former male classmates: Barry Jones and Carlton Upshur. Both were only marginally handsome and had endured horrific marriages. Barry’s wife was serving time in prison for trying to poison him to death by putting cyanide in his meals. Carlton’s wife had left him for a woman. They had told almost everybody they knew that they would never remarry or get too serious about a woman again, and I’d shared that information with Bertha. Since she knew they were not a threat to her position in my life, she didn’t have anything negative to say about them.
I rotated Carl and Barry. I accompanied them to tame events such as cookouts, church gatherings, and such. I only had sex with them when I felt like it, which was not very often. I’d only slept with Barry twice and Carlton three times. The sex, mediocre at best, ended when I joined Discreet Encounters, but I’d gone out with Barry and Carlton a few more times. I eventually got so busy with my “secret” dates, I stopped going out with them altogether.
When Bertha asked why they’d stopped coming around, I told her both of them had become too serious; and because of their bitterness toward their ex-wives, I didn’t think either one was good husband material for me. It was one of the few things she and I agreed on.
“Maybe I should start looking for a white man to marry.”
Bertha’s jaw dropped and she narrowed her eyes. “A ‘white man’? Since when did you start thinking about white men? Aren’t black men good enough for you?”
“I must not be good enough for them. Maurice Hamilton was the only black man who ever asked me to marry him,” I said in a dry tone of voice.
“For one thing, you aren’t the type of black woman a white man worth anything would want to marry,” Bertha pointed out.
